The Wedding
by Kyrial Halcoryn
Summary: ...or, alternatively, Why I Shouldn't Ever Write On A Caffeine And Sugar High. Because Angela Petrelli, bless her lil' stolen white cotton socks, couldn't help but interfere. Pylar! Slight X-over with House M.D. and Doctor Who. See Peter in a dress!


**The Wedding**, or, alternatively, **Why I Shouldn't Ever Write On A Caffeine And Sugar High**.

Because Angela Petrelli, bless her lil' stolen white cotton socks, couldn't help but interfere. Completely AU, because there wasn't really any other way to do it.

**Disclaimer:** I own Heroes. Yeah. I am Tim Kring. I had a sex change and emigrated to the UK. Take _that_, byatches! Wahahahaha! *cough*  
...that WAS sarcasm. I don't own House M.D, or Heroes, or Doctor Who, or Torchwood. They belong to the lovely writers who do such shows. Not me.

**Written To: **9 in the Afternoon, Panic! at the Disco, as well as coffee-and-sugar-overdose mocha, and Oreo and toasted marshmallow milkshakes.

**Inspiration:** (It's Death Note fanart.) Just take out the spaces. www . fanpop . com / spots / death-note / links / 2746809

Anyway, this is a little series of snapshots of Peter and Sylar's wedding, mainly third person as viewed through the eyes of the poor sod who had to organise the whole thing. In advance, I will warn you: it is unbeta'd, contains implied smut, gay pairings, Captain Jack Harkness, two Doctors, House's team and Peter Petrelli in a dress. Have fun and enjoy!

* * *

The minister slumped against the the drinks table. Normally, he wouldn't drink much, but he felt that this occasion deserved alcohol. Strong alcohol. Really strong alcohol; absinthe, or possibly triple-distilled vodka. No, quadruple-distilled. The kind they pickled scorpions in. And maybe something that would scrub out his retinas as well.

Yeah.

Possibly, if he was lucky, he would wake up yesterday morning, and this would all be a drug-induced hazy dream. Although he hadn't _thought_ he had any cannabis left from his college days, and he didn't keep any harder drugs around the house... maybe somebody had spiked his drink with something weird. LSD, perhaps.

Despite the fact he hadn't actually _touched _alcohol yesterday.

* * *

It had all started... well... not TOO badly, come to think of it. A dark-haired guy had turned up out of nowhere, introduced himself as Sylar, then requested that he perform the traditional vows, at a wedding, in five month's time.

And he'd agreed. Well... he was a fairly liberal minister, pretty well known for organising and reciting the vows at weddings (and better at it than stuffy old George, he thought with pride). It wasn't surprising they'd found him.

Sylar had offered a surprising amount of money for the whole thing, he thought. Especially unusual was the fact that he'd paid $15,000 upfront. He'd vaguely wondered for a second if the man was a bank robber or something, but the thought quickly flickered out of his head as soon as it had arrived.

After all, the man was so _nice._ Even if he did have big eyebrows, and liked black.

* * *

"Who's the lucky lady?" he'd asked.

Sylar coughed at that point.

_Ah. I expected as much. _"Or lucky man?" he'd continued, without missing a beat.

Sylar had stared at him intently just then. "I'm sure I can trust you with this information."

He was intrigued at this point, but waited for the man to continue.

"Peter Petrelli."

For a second there, his face had been completely blank as he stared at Sylar across the desk. _Peter Petrelli?!! Seriously? Wow. No wonder he came to me - but_ - _then why - _

His client had interrupted the stream of thought. "As a result, I'd like you to keep this... between us."

_Well, that certainly explains the money. They're a rich family... _he'd mused. _...And wouldn't want the media in attendance._

It was... _unusual,_ he'd thought. But well worth the cash.

* * *

Of course, that was before he'd met Peter Petrelli in person.

* * *

Peter seemed friendly enough, although his hair was longer than in the most recent photos the press had used in the news. There were bangs again, for one thing.

"Hi."

He'd started out as a nurse, starting a career in medicine before vanishing under 'mysterious circumstances'. The media plumped for alien abduction while his senator brother lay in hospital with severe burns, then claimed that God might be on Nathan Petrelli's side after a 'miracle healing'.

Twice.

And he wouldn't even get _started_ on the most recent Petrelli events either...

He realised that Peter was in fact talking to him. "Sorry?"

"I take it Gabe already talked to you about the fees?"

He frowned. "'Gabe'?"

"Sylar, then." Peter winced slightly at the word.

He wondered briefly about the two different names; 'Gabe' would probably be the pet name, short for Gabriel, maybe, although that still left the question of the 'Sylar'...

During the meeting, they managed to agree on a fairly large venue in the outskirts of New York.

And that was that.

(It still didn't explain $200,000 worth of 'privacy'.)

* * *

Then Angela had arrived... He shuddered at the memory of the encounter.

"I understand my son is going to be married," she'd said, in a chilly tone.

"Yes," he'd replied, arranging his face into what he'd hoped was a neutral expression.

Angela had considered this for a second. "In that case, could you at least make sure for me that the wedding is _traditional_?" She sniffed at this. "My son has... something of a tendency to be obtuse."

_They have serious family issues here. _"Of course."

Not finished yet, she'd continued, "Of course, that means a white-dress wedding. We have to uphold family tradition, of course, don't we?"

He'd almost choked at that, but nodded silently.

She'd smiled, satisfied. "Then I hope to see you again soon," she'd added, before leaving him to rather disturbing visions of Peter Petrelli wearing a white wedding dress.

Of course, he'd informed the son immediately about this.

* * *

"You didn't tell her?"

"Hell no. She'd throw a fit if she found out! She thinks I'm straight just because I talk to girls occasionally. She's probably waiting for more grandkids from my side..."

"She thinks you're straight."

"Yeah."

"Despite the fact you have a fringe." For emphasis, said fringe was flicked.

"I know."

"Despite the fact you used to be a hospice nurse."

"Yes."

"Despite the fact you like to dress up in that outfit with the little-"

"Shut _up_."

There was a pause.

"A white-dress wedding?"

"That's what she said." A cough. "Apparently."

"You know, it would still be possible for us to have kids. Together."

There was a _very_ pregnant pause.

"...when I went to the future, I met you... You had a son called Noah."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You offered to make me waffles. With maple syrup. And Noah called me 'Uncle Peter'."

"Huh."

There was another pause as more things were considered.

"So, who's going to wear the dress?"

"No. No. Freaking. Way."

"Pleeease?"

"It'd look better on you. Your hair is long enough to pass for a girl anyway."

"Well, I suppose..."

"_And_ you have more previous experience."

"...that's not fair."

"...waffles?"

"Yes."

"Weird."

* * *

He thought he'd have a heart attack when he saw the outfits that the couple chose. He somewhat suspected the whole 'white dress' thing was just to spite Mama Petrelli, since she'd brought the whole subject of wedding dresses up... but the disturbing thing was that Peter actually looked _good_ in it. Feminine, in white silk (no no no no no, he wasn't even going to go there).

It was properly filled in all the right places, for one thing, and he found it... _attractive_. And that worried him more than anything else. He was straight!

"What d'you think?" Peter asked, as he twirled. The base flared out with the movement, as Sylar (or Gabriel, whichever it was) eyed his lover.

"You couldn't just wear a suit?" replied Sylar critically, then, as Peter started to pout, hastily added, "Not that you look _bad_ in it or anything, but... Angela's going to freak."

Peter grinned evilly. "I know." He twirled in the other direction. "But then... we wouldn't want to disappoint her expectations, would we?"

_What the hell did she - I mean he - find to put in the br- the front?_

Sylar sighed. "Yes. You look extremely sexy in the dress."

Peter smiled, then turned to the minister. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You look fine," he managed to say, then managed to tear his eyes away to Sylar, who was giving him a death-glare. It was the kind that said 'Stop ogling my boyfriend before I have to kill you'.

Paying more attention to the other man now, he noticed Sylar's attire properly. Black tux with a red shirt, and a gold carnation in the button hole.

"Thanks," Peter said absentmindedly, then turned his full attention to his fiancé, running an appreciative eye across the suit. "I like the flower."

He wondered vaguely about the past allegations of Mafia-esque activities, especially since Sylar looked an awful lot like someone out of the _Godfather_. The style of a sophisticated killer.

Peter smirked. "We'd better take these clothes off. It's supposed to be bad luck."

Sylar muttered something about 'couldn't be any more of a trouble magnet if he tried', but the two of them wandered off to separate dressing rooms anyway.

* * *

_"Hi Nate! I need you at my wedding rehearsal today. It's at 5:30!" _Peter sounded far too chirpy for... he glanced at his watch... 8.30 in the morning.

"Sure, Pete, but - "

_"Thanks! Don't forget to remind Claire to turn up too, she's the bridesmaid!"_ _-clic-_

* * *

Mohinder picked up the phone. "Who is this?"

_"Sylar. Wedding rehearsal. Today. 5:30. You're best man."_

He stared at the phone as if it were a handful of plague virus. "You're getting married?"

There was a sigh down the phone. _"Obviously Peter is behind with the wedding invitations. I thought you, Matt, Molly and Micah had already been invited."_

"You're getting married to Peter?!" He glanced at the invite on the table. It hadn't mentioned _this._

_"_You're_ getting married to _Matt._ Your point being?"_

"How did you - "

_"Come on. It wasn't _that_ hard to find out. Besides, I want my favourite scientist there."_

"Well..." he said, hesitating.

_"Matt's best man as well, and Molly's doing the whole flower maiden thing,"_ he added.

"Fine then." He thought about something for a second. "What did Angela say?"

_"That's Peter's job."_

"Oh my God." Mohinder burst out laughing. "You actually haven't told Angela yet, have you?"

_"...no." _The tone of voice indicated that this subject was not to be continued.

"I'll be there." He hung up.

_

* * *

_

There were _two_ best men at the rehearsal, neither of which the minister recognised from the media photos. The blonde girl looked vaguely familiar from somewhere, although he wasn't entirely sure where, but the famous politician brother he _definitely_ knew. Nathan looked distinctly uncomfortable about leading his brother up the aisle, from the looks of things. The flower girl was fine, though, especially since that boy by the side kept winking at her occasionally, which made her smile.

No, wait... the blonde girl was that cheerleader who was at that school in Texas where that girl was killed at a Homecoming party. Claire Bennett? That was it. She _certainly_ didn't look happy about the whole thing, and he wondered why she'd been chosen as the bridesmaid for the wedding. Especially since she kept directing death glares at the groom, as well as more calculating looks at Peter. Or rather, Peter's back, since she was behind him.

The watchful gaze of the bridesmaid was angled slightly downwards up until the point when she had to step aside. They quickly went through the wedding vows and finished off, after which Sylar stepped over to the minister and slipped him a piece of paper.

He gave the man a questioning look. "What is it?"

"Revised wedding vows." Sylar winked. "Don't let Peter know. It'll be a surprise."

* * *

_"You have reached the Petrelli Household. Angela is currently unavailable for conversation. Please leave a message after the tone."_

"Hi, Mom! This is Peter at..." He checked his watch. "10.27pm. Anyway... yeah, about the wedding tomorrow? There's some stuff I felt you should know about it." Peter looked up, where Sylar was making silent encouraging motions with his hands. "Yeah... where should I start?"

_By telling her you're gay and currently engaged to me? _came Sylar's thoughts, amused.

"Well..." He hesitated. _Get on with it!_

"For starters... I'm not actually straight. And this isn't a joke, Mom, and I _know_ there was that girl Simone, but we were just... _friends_, okay? And I'm not even going to get started on Caitlin. And Elle occasionally coming into my Company cell to zap me does _not_ constitute a relationship, Mom, no matter what you might think. Just thought I'd get that straight first. No pun intended." He took a breath, and glared at Sylar, who was trying not to laugh. "And the other guy is Gabriel Gray." Sylar winced at this as Peter stuck his tongue out. "Otherwise known as Sylar, and nothing you're gonna do is able to change that, because. We. Are. In. Love. You know the feeling? You must've had it once, or Nathan and I wouldn't even _be_ here. Yeah, that. And before you ask or start shouting at me, I have no idea about what kind of shit we're going to do with double-barreled surnames or whatever, but we're engaged, and tomorrow, we're getting married, and everyone's already invited. You can't do anything about that. At all. Unless you managed to get Matt or the Haitian to mind-wipe us or something, in which case I suppose you _could_ do something, but - " There was a beeping noise from his mobile. "Shit, I'm running out of charge."

"But you're still getting the white-dress wedding you want, though," he added as an afterthought. "Bye, Mom. I'll see you tomorrow. Probably. If you're actually turning up."

Sylar stared at Peter as he hung up.

"What?" he said defensively.

"It took you 3 minutes 21 seconds to tell your mother you're gay. On an answerphone message. The night before you're getting married."

Peter narrowed his gaze. "Are you complaining?"

Sylar looked perfectly innocent. "Of course not. I was going for closer to the 10-minute mark."

He glared as pillows began to rise telekinetically from the bed, then lunged for Sylar as the pillows made a coordinated attack. Sylar quickly commandeered a spare pillow, sending it flying straight into Peter's face just as the blanket rose up and wrapped itself around the two of them. In the ensuing struggle, the mattress began to slide onto the floor, dumping the two unceremoniously onto the carpet.

A muffled "Ow," came from the blanket, as it rolled and hit the wall.

Peter attempted to extricate himself from the tangle, without much success as the blanket was still wrapped tightly around both men, and both men were tightly wrapped around each other.

"Crap, I think we're stuck." He then noticed Sylar's hand was still in its telekinetic grip. "Uh. Let me go?"

Sylar twisted around to face Peter properly, the Look in his eyes, and growled.

* * *

Angela woke up from the grip of a nightmare about her son, and let out a deep breath.

_Well, at least it can't possibly be true, _she thought, and relaxed somewhat in her bed.

A quiet beeping came to her attention, and she cautiously walked out of her bedroom down the stairs to the answerphone machine. She pressed the button.

_"You have one new message. Message received today at 10.17 pee em."_

Angela stared at the wall in growing horror as the message continued. _It has to be a prank. Something to make up for all the embarrassing times you butted into his sexual life, like the time there was that high school prom and you turned up and he was dancing with that boy what was his name Gabe oh god oh god oh god -_

She beat her head against the wall. Hard.

* * *

The next morning, it was sunny. He was quite surprised by the number of guests that had been invited, but given that the Petrellis were socialites, he probably shouldn't have been. Angela was there, surprisingly, although she looked as though she'd had an awful lot of whiskey the night before. Either that or she'd already found the punch table, he thought as the two best men gave each other a quick smooch and the flower girl giggled. She blushed when someone in the crowd - that curly-haired boy in the fourth row, maybe? - wolf-whistled.

He noticed that the groom's half of the church was looking suspiciously empty, with only one person sitting down there: a man who looked as if he could be Sylar's father. He coughed occasionally whilst glancing at the other side of the church and the people sitting there.

The other side was much fuller, with a wide variety of people, including Heidi Petrelli, Tracy Strauss and another blonde woman he didn't recognise, all currently glaring at each other. A grizzled-looking man with a cane limped next to a brown-haired man as they came in together, the former grumbling quietly as they sat down along at the end of a pew near the back, a brunette shuffling up to accomodate them.

Just in front of them, a Hispanic woman looked as if she was about to cry, occasionally glaring at both Sylar, Peter _and_ the best men, both of them. And _right_ at the back, there were two men sitting impassively next to Angela Petrelli, who was weeping into a handkerchief. The one with horn-rimmed glasses occasionally turned to whisper something to her as she hiccuped; the other, darker-skinned and almost bald, remained silent.

There was a strange graunching noise from outside.

And now Peter was walking up the aisle to _Serenade_ playing on the organ, with his brother guiding him up the aisle, Claire Bennett holding the train behind, with Gabriel Gray waiting at the altar. The bridesmaid looked distinctly unhappy about the whole arrangement -

"Sorry!"

A skinny-looking man with spiky brown hair in a pinstriped suit rushed in, beaming, as he dragged along a fuming redhead into the church. He waved a piece of barely-visible paper at the minister. "Sorry," he said, grinning widely. "Got here a bit late, you know how parking is these days..." He looked around for a space, did a double take at the groom's side, then sat down at the back.

"Why not that side?" muttered the redhead.

"Because, Donna... _weeeell_..." The mystery man looked up at the rest of the church, who were all staring at the latecomers. "I'll tell you later, okay?"

A muttered "And Cuddy said _I _was rude," was just audible from the middle of the bride's side, followed by a louder, "_House!_"

The minister cleared his throat as someone snickered quietly. Sylar was smirking, whereas Peter was grinning openly as he arrived at the front of the church.

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining together of two souls for eternity - "

"Five bucks says they get a divorce in the next year," House muttered to his friend.

" - Peter Petrelli and Gabriel Gray - " he continued as the skinny man got up to tap House on the shoulder.

"Actually, it's two years before they even start going anywhere without each other. That's if you're thinking linear for them, not you, though, in which case it's more like five weeks since they did a round-the-Andromeda-galaxy trip. Oh, and I'm the Doctor, just the Doctor by the way, and this is Donna Noble. Say hi, Donna! It's good to meet you. You're Dr. House, of course, the famous diagnostician, and - " He swiveled to look properly at the man sitting next to House. " - that means YOU must be Dr. Wilson, and she's Dr. Cuddy, and - "

"Doc_tor_..." Donna said in a 'I'm-about-to-slap-you-if-you-don't-stop-there' tone of voice.

"Oops. Sorry," he said as he meekly sat down again.

" - so I ask - "

House raised an eyebrow at Wilson and mouthed something along the lines of 'psychiatric-ward stalker'.

" - if anyone knows of any reason - "

Angela Petrelli hiccuped quietly into a handkerchief as the man with the glasses patted her gently on the shoulder.

"-why these two should not be joined in civil partnership?"

Claire Bennett straightened up, looking the minister in the eye.

"Yes. There is."

She took a deep breath, well aware that everyone was staring at her. "I love him."

There was utter silence, just before the minister said, very slowly, "Uh... o_kay._ Um. Which one?"

She directed a look of total adoration towards the man in the wedding dress, who gave her a horrified look. "But Claire, I'm your _uncle!_"

Chaos quickly ensued as people began to shout, and in the back, the Doctor leaned over to Donna, and murmured into her ear, "And cut..."

* * *

There was a strange moment for a second.

* * *

" - any reason why these two should not be joined in civil partnership?"

Silence.

"In that case, I pronounce you legally bound together as partners. You may now kiss."

There was uncertain applause as the two came together, an embrace of white, black, red and gold. Flowers cascaded downwards as Molly threw them into the air, blushing as her friend moved to kiss her.

They moved closer, going further as arms and hands slid downwards.

"GET A ROOM!" House yelled as Peter and Sylar broke apart, the former grinning before giving him a semi-salute.

"What. The. Heck. Just happened?" Donna muttered.

The Doctor turned towards her. "Oh, he looped time for about twenty seconds. It's a self-consuming paradox, and that way nobody remembers. Simple, smart, _clean,_ and best of all, that way nobody gets hurt afterwards. Although," he said thoughtfully, "the reception's a completely different matter..."

"You didn't tell me, though. Why's no-one on the groom's side?"

"Oh, he's a reformed serial killer," he replied, waving his hand as if it was nothing.

"WHAT?!! You've gotta be blooming kidding me!"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'. "Stay away from the dad, though. He isn't," he added as an afterthought.

"A serial killer?"

"Reformed."

* * *

Shortly after the wedding, Peter was approached by Hiro and Ando, the former glancing slightly anxiously at Sylar before smiling brightly at Peter. "Peter-san! It is excellent to hear from you but..." He lowered his voice slightly. "Are you sure this is wise? With..." Hiro drew a line across the forehead, and made a 'kktch' noise.

He shrugged. "I have Claire's ability. Besides, he has my empathy anyway."

Ando stared. "He took your ability?"

"Uh... close enough. Except without the mess." Peter became painfully aware he was beginning to blush at this point; he hadn't changed out of the dress. Behind him he could hear his mother loudly commenting to Noah Bennett on her youngest son's taste in clothes, women, men and chocolate, and in front of him, Ando's eyes had shifted slightly.

"I was not aware that was possible," Hiro mused, curious. "But how-"

"Fringey." House approached Peter with Wilson in tow, forming a welcome diversion from Hiro's questions on empathy, which, quite frankly, he didn't want to have to answer. Ever.

"Dr. House," Peter smiled. "I was surprised to see you here, actually."

"Got dragged along by Wilson. He insisted. Of course, if you'd _told_ me before you were going to wear that, I wouldn't have turned up in the first place." The doctor's eyes turned slightly downwards, appreciative. "Nice padding, by the way. Did you get implants?"

"No. Too permanent."

"Gel, then. Pretty realistic." He looked upwards again. "By the way, just thought I should thank you, since you just won me a $50 bet with Foreman. He thought you were straight."

"You held a bet on my sexuality?"

Wilson looked amused. "Peter, he bets on _everything_."

He winced. "I'd better get changed. Gabe," he called, "make sure these guys don't end the world while I'm at it, okay?"

Sylar nodded as Peter slipped past House into a spare room.

* * *

The Doctor soon spotted a _very_ familiar face in the crowd, and pulled Donna along by her hand.

"Oi!"

Jack looked up from his chat with Hiro and Ando, and flashed a wide grin at both of them. "Hi, Donna! Donna, these lovely guys are - "

"Hiro Nakamuro." The shorter of the two gave a small bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Donna Noble."

"Call me Ando," said Ando, smiling widely.

Donna narrowed her gaze at the captain. "How'd you know my name? Who're you?"

Ando frowned for a second, as Hiro started to say, "Oh, Jack was just telling us about your adventure together in - " just before Jack's hand was clamped over his mouth, and Jack leaned over towards Hiro to whisper something in his ear. The fact that he was also grinning did not help the Doctor's peace of mind.

"_Jaaack_..." the Doctor said in a warning tone of voice.

Hiro turned towards Jack, then nodded. "Ah. I see." He turned to face Donna, then smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "Spoilers."

"Bloody time travellers..." she muttered, causing Hiro's face to fall slightly.

"Anyway! Jack, what brings you here?" said the Doctor, smiling.

"Oh, you know," he replied evasively, glancing over to a small gaggle of people who were evidently discussing something or other.

"Managed to flirt with every time traveller in the universe yet?"

He winked. "I'm getting there, though. You're always welcome to join me if you like. And, of course, the lovely Donna."

She glared at him. "Are you trying to hit on me?"

"Yes!" Ando blurted loudly, before realising his mistake as Donna stared at him. "I mean... I apologise. I was talking to Hiro."

"Sure."

At this point, the Doctor winced in anticipation of what he _knew, _with utmost certanity, was going to come next. Donna Noble, the future Saviour of the Universe and the Lady of Time, narrowed her eyes at Captain Jack Harkness, immortal ex-Time Agent and over 2000 years old, and drew her arm back. It was an almost historic moment for the universe, and could probably have done with better background music than just chatter.

Neverthless, she slapped him.

"Ow," he pouted. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Hiro looked horrified as Ando shuffled slightly backwards, nudging his friend and muttering something in Japanese that the TARDIS translated, roughly, as 'I think we should leave this conversation now.' A ginger man hurried over at this, then stopped to stare at the scene.

"Donna? Did he try to - oh." He stopped when he saw the Doctor. "It's you."

The two stared at each other for a second, the darker-haired man silently evaluating before yelling jubilantly "YES! FINALLY!"

Donna stared at the Doctor in utter confusion, before turning to Jack with a 'please help me' look. He spotted this, looking amused, then walked over to her and grabbed her arm.

"What're you doing?"

"Probably best to leave the two of them to it. Wanna go get a drink?" He gave her a charming smile, and turned up the pheromones.

"Uh... sure."

* * *

"Which regeneration?" the Doctor asked excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his heels.

The ginger Doctor shook his head sadly. "Thirteenth, unfortunately. You've got eleven and twelve to go through yet." He shuddered. "There was the whole _emo_ phase."

"Emo?"

"Black hair, fringe, overabuse of black in general. Black never goes out of style, but there _are_ limits." He considered this for a few seconds. "Although it was better than using celery as a decorative vegetable. _Or_ the Scarf of Infinite Length."

"Hey! I liked that scarf!"

"Yes." He sighed. "I remembered I did. Anyway, Donna's waiting in the TARDIS and I'd better get Jack out of here before he destroys the time-space continuum. Again." He smiled slightly at this.

"Donna's still with you?"

"Yeah. Jack shares her nickname of 'Companion I Couldn't Get Rid Of'. Third time lucky, eh?"

"_Third? - _"

But the other man had already left. The Doctor sighed, and resigned himself to not knowing until he lived through it.

"Donna!" he called.

* * *

By the time Sylar noted that Heidi, Meredith and Tracy were all moving towards the drinks table at the same time, it was already too late. Glancing over to the Haitian, he noticed that the man was currently looking close to passing out already, and being clutched tightly by Maya, who appeared to be whispering sweet Hispanic nothings in his ear.

He sighed. _Honestly. Can't hold his drink. _There would be no help from _that_ corner, then.

Sylar made his way over to the three women before a new ice age broke out prematurely. Frankly, he couldn't care less, but since Peter had given him specific instructions to prevent the end of the world due to arguments... well... it wasn't like he had an option. It was that or forsake a sex life for the next fifty years.

"Heidi," Tracy said frigidly.

"Meredith. It's so lovely to see you."

"Indeed. And _you_ must be the _new_ blonde."

The temperature in that corner of the room dropped by several degrees Kelvin as Sylar sidestepped Molly kissing Micah. The former squeaked as she stepped out of the way. _Seems she still hasn't gotten over what I did, _he thought guiltily.

"_New_ blonde?"

"Oh, yes. Nathan seems to have quite a thing for blonde ladies." Heidi counted on the fingers of her well-manicured right hand. "Jessica, Niki, the two of you... who else? Oh yes, those _other _two hookers in Las Vegas. Am I missing anyone?"

Nathan staggered over, smelling strongly of whisky. "Hey, that's wrong... Niki n' Jessica th' same person..."

Tracy's hand shot out to grab him by the shoulder. "One more word from you, and you end up as the ice cubes in your drink," she hissed.

"That's if you can even _deliver_," Meredith spat at Tracy.

"Oh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"_You_ know. He was only so desperate to screw you after all that time he was lumbered with kids."

"Ladies..." Nathan slurred as Heidi looked ready to kill. "Y'know, it's un-unladylike to be fightin' over a man. We c'ld have a..." He focused, counting the people in front of him. "Fivesome?"

In that one second, all three women's attention instantly snapped to the man, honed with deadly killing intent just as Sylar placed his hands on Tracy and Meredith's shoulders.

"_Ladies..._" he purred.

They turned round. Tracy made an 'aark' noise.

"Y're cute. I know you fr'm s'where, righ'?" Nathan asked, wobbling on his feet. "Don' usually go f'r brown - "

Sylar grimaced at _that_ mental image through the man's mind right now. It was tempting to rip the man's head open right now, but that would probably mean divorce when Peter found out. _If_ Peter found out. _Or I could pretend to be his brother again... but he'd probably notice that his brother kept hitting on him. Damn. _He snapped his fingers.

The man's jaw clamped shut. "Mmh!"

Sylar grinned evilly. "Peter asked me to prevent unnecessary destruction while he was getting dressed. So I'd suggest the three of you just... separate. I'd _hate_ to have to do something violent."

Tracy and Meredith sprinted for the door as Heidi folded her arms. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sylar."

She stared at him. "_That_ man?"

"Yes."

"In that case, thank you for helping me get away from _him_." She thumbed at Nathan, then walked off.

"Huh." He looked at Nathan, who was still struggling with the invisible gag, then smirked. "Maybe I should kill you more often."

Nathan's eyes widened. "Mmmfh!"

* * *

"Who _was _that guy, anyway?" Kutner asked, as House busied himself with food.

"Ex-nurse," he grunted. "Used to work here for a while."

"What I don't get is why he wanted to invite _you,_" Chase muttered. "You took the piss out of him half the time..."

"It's longer now. Did you notice?"

"Really?" Chase asked sarcastically. "I wouldn't have noticed. You hardly mentioned!"

"What worries _me_ is the fact that the other guy didn't have anybody on his side..." muttered Foreman. His mind drifted off to Mafia allegations and mobster relations to the Petrelli family. As a result, he was half-expecting Mafiosos to burst through the doors with sub-machine guns and start demanding 'payment' for 'services rendered'.

At the other end of the table, Matt Parkman started snickering.

House looked up to glare. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," he replied, still grinning and dismissing the question with a wave of his hand and a salmon canape.

"C'mon. Spill."

Foreman rolled his eyes; the man was determined, and there would be no stopping him now.

"Fine," the cop sighed, then sidled over to House with something of a smirk on his face. He whispered in his ear.

House's face went blank. "Say that again."

Whisper, _whisper,_ whisper. Foreman and Chase stared, then glanced at each other, clearly conveying _What the hell?_

House frowned. "Uh... isn't that a bit awkward? Not to mention... _impractical. _Also _medically impossible. _Although the sex would probably be good."

Foreman's mind was suddenly filled with dirty images. At this point, he decided to leave the conversation, and find a nice friendly-looking alcoholic drink before he was forced to wonder more about Matt Parkman and scrub out the inside of his brain with a wire brush.

"What?" asked Chase, suddenly fascinated.

House waved a hand. "Shoo. Big boy talk here." His full attention turned back to Matt. "Seriously. Prove it."

Chase, put out, left, as Matt tilted his head slightly to one side, then grinned widely.

"What?" House asked.

Matt's grin just spread wider. "You're in _denial._"

"_What?_" House glared. "Seriously, that's vague. You're the suckiest person I ever met pretending to - "

Matt leaned forward, still grinning, then whispered in House's ear.

House blinked. "Wha-"

"I'll tell him if you won't."

"How the hell did you - are you stalking me?"

"Nooo... I just told you_ the truth._" Matt cocked his head sideways again, then winced as House gave him a death-glare. "Ouch."

"I could do worse things." House smirked. "I can certainly _think_ of worse things," he said, stressing the word.

A second later, Matt started blushing. "Stop it. Seriously. The last thing I need is - wait a second, what was that one again?"

"Which one?"

"No. Not that... yeah, _that _one! Thanks." Matt mentally commited the idea to his own memory.

"Seriously?" House's face twisted in disbelief. "You don't look like that kind of guy."

"Yeah, well... I would say _you_ were more into women."

"And?" He raised an eyebrow. "Can't have both?"

"You still won't admit it to him, though..."

"For somebody claiming to be able to read minds... you're an idiot."

"Hey!" He paused. "Wait... _three?_"

"Yeah, pretty much what I thought."

"But... seriously, three... and you've been with him for twenty years... and neither of you said anything?"

"Wait... _neither of you_?" House asked suspiciously.

Matt looked down. "It was an accident, okay?" he muttered. "It wasn't like I was doing it _deliberately_."

"You violated Wilson." It wasn't a question.

"Shut up. Momo will think I'm cheating." The blush deepened.

"_Momo?_"

"Don't even say it. Don't even _think _it. Besides, you make it sound like I raped him."

"It's close enough."

"You're honestly trying to tell me that you wouldn't want to know?" Matt asked.

"That's different. Tell me."

"Hypocrite."

"_Tell me._"

"Fine," Matt grumbled, and leaned forwards again.

House stared.

"Yes, really," Matt added.

"Are you sure? Because if you're lying I swear to God I'll - "

"I'm not lying. Why would I need to?"

"Good." House looked up towards Wilson, who was currently talking to a relatively attractive-looking blonde. His expression darkened as he made his way towards the two.

* * *

_Please, please rescue me from this woman, House..._

" - but it's as if I don't even _exist _to him, he's never even _noticed_ that I'm there..." she complained, then looked up at him with beseeching eyes. "_You_ understand, don't you?"

"Yes. I do. Let me guess, he never even noticed that you like him in that way?" The depressing thing was that he understood.

She brightened up. "Yes! That's exactly right! You know what it feels like... what's your name?"

"James Wil-" He was cut off by the sudden appearance of one Gregory House. _Thank God. Now all I need to pray for is another minor miracle._

"Hi," he said flippantly. "Nice to meet you, Janet."

"My name is _Laura!-_" she yelled, incensed.

"House, what are you - " Wilson began, before being cut off sharply by the swift occupation of his mouth. His eyes widened.

They broke apart.

Wilson's mind was utterly blank.

"Did I mention you were talking to my boyfriend?" House said, in a low voice.

"_Boyfriend?_" Wilson asked, about an octave higher than usual.

House ran his gaze over the other man, taking in the slight jaw-drop, the expression that said _oh my god what the fuck_ and the widening of the eyes.

"Yeah."

Wilson closed his mouth, aware that it was hanging open.

_

* * *

Mohinder came up to Matt from behind and put his arms around his neck._

"What did you do?" he asked, watching House's progress towards Wilson.

"Oh, nothing drastic," Matt replied. "Just spreading a little happiness around."

Mohinder gave Matt a severe look, which was slightly detracted from by the kiss that followed. "You didn't use... _it,_ did you?"

"Hey, I didn't change anything!" Matt said, looking injured. He watched as House leant towards Wilson, effectively breaking up the conversation by physical means, and smiled.

_Good deed for the day._

* * *

God, being telepathic would be useful. Maybe he could persuade Matt Parkman to move in with him... But then, he'd eat all the damn pancakes, and then there would be Momo - whoever the hell that was - to consider as well. Sounded more like the name of some Japanese hamster. He looked up to see Matt Parkman doubled over with laughter, some Indian guy next to him looking slightly concerned - Momo, he assumed - and gave him the mental finger. _Stop reading my mind, asshole. This is a private moment!_

Wilson's lips parted slightly again. "Are you serious?"

"Hell yes."

He stared, corners of his mouth involuntarily curling upwards into a smile. "Good."

* * *

Peter re-emerged from the room in a T-shirt and pair of jeans to see his newly-wedded husband, who sighed in relief. "What is it?" he asked.

"Your brother just almost got himself killed. Again. Hey," he said raising his hands defensively, "it wasn't me this time! It was his three mad exes or something. _And_ he offered to have a fivesome with us." Sylar gave an exaggerated shudder. "Now, _there's _something I hope I never have to see."

"What did you do with them?" Peter asked, whilst leaning against the wall.

"Oh, I gagged him. Then he passed out. Your family should seriously go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or something, with the amount that Angela and Claire are putting away." He paused. "I was quite surprised my new mother-in-law hadn't passed out yet."

Peter winced. "Never play drinking games with Claire. Liver of steel, remember?"

"Angela's hitting on Noah."

"I always thought they'd be good for each other," Peter murmured.

Sylar snorted at this. _I pity any children they ever have together._

"Anything else?"

"Oh, nothing much. The universe fell apart while you were getting changed," Sylar deadpanned, beginning _the game._

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched. "Oh dear. That's a shame."

Sylar met his gaze with a straight face. "Indeed."

"I mean, if you think of all the kittens in the world," Peter lamented, shaking his head sadly.

"Very sad." He wasn't going to lose this time.

"Puppies, too."

"All those small mammals."

There was a pause as muffled laughter came from behind a door in the corridor.

Sylar wiped an nonexistent tear from his eye. "Just terrible."

"_Isn't_ it just?"

He waited.

"But on the plus side..." Peter began, "..._we're_ still here."

Sylar grinned evilly. "Of course."

There was a _clik_ as the door's lock turned by itself, and swung open to reveal, as one might expect, a bedroom, with the wedding dress draped over a chair and a king-size bed with four pillows and pristinely-folded sheets. While there were also a plasma-screen television, as well as wine and glasses on a table (and _other_ things too), the bed was the only object with their full attention.

Peter stepped back inside, his smile lighting up the room. Sylar could _feel_ the emotions coming off him in waves now, and wondered how he could ever had ignored it, not seen it, all those times they'd met before...

Sylar stepped forward.

And the rest of the world spun on.

* * *

"...y'know, children just don't appreciate you like they used to, do they?" Angela proclaimed, slurring slightly as she held a half-empty glass in her hand, sitting down in the hotel gardens in the twilight. The faint beat of dance music started up from inside.

Noah shook his head dolefully. "You wipe memories for them - "

" - bury all the shkeletons in the closet, poison the soup, and that soup was a damn good recipe - " she muttered.

" - break 'em out of the morgue - "

" - help them take over th' world - "

" - even let them do what'ver they want, and what d'you get?" He hiccuped slightly. "Nothing."

Angela focused on Noah's face. "Yeah. _You_ understan'."

"'m single, if you wanna know," Noah added, feeling that this was somehow necessary to say.

"'m single, too."

"Divorced?"

"Dead."

"Oh." Noah patted her on the back. "Sorry."

"Not really. Poisoned him."

"Oh." Noah tried to focus, but something in his mind wouldn't click right now.

A naked Claire ran past, screaming. She was followed shortly after by a girl with long brown hair, in a similar state, screaming, "But _Claire!_ I swear I didn't do it!"

They sat in contemplative silence.

A minute later, there was a scream of "YOU BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Angela's head slid down to rest on Noah's shoulder. He felt oddly touched, in a good way.

The girl with long brown hair was now running away from Claire, who was still butt naked but now holding a flaming towel. "I SWEAR TO GOD GRETCHEN - "

The voices faded as the girls made another lap of the hotel.

"...wanna get hitched?"

"...sure."

* * *

Dance music was just audible from the inside of the cupboard.

Molly giggled.

Micah looked slightly anxious, his face illuminated by the faint light. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course! Nobody's going to come _here_ anyway, are they?"

He shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "Well, yeah... but even so..."

"Aw, c'mon! You're just worried I'll be _good_ at it, aren't you?"

"Of course not!" Micah protested in the dark. "That's ridiculous!"

"Then come on!" He just made out her face drop. "Unless you don't want to. I mean, that's okay as well, if you don't want to."

"No, seriously, it's fine - "

The door opened. Light flooded in as Kutner stared at the two kids.

"Uh... hi?" Molly said awkwardly.

Kutner found his voice again. "Uh... what're you doing?"

Micah blushed and averted his gaze downwards towards the Device he was holding.

"Pokemon," he muttered defensively. "We were going to trade."

Kutner's face lit up. "Seriously? Can I join in?"

Molly blinked. "Uh, sure!"

"Pearl or Diamond?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for his DS.

"Actually, I have Platinum," Micah said sheepishly.

Molly groaned. "You should have seen him queueing outside the store to get the new cartridge," she said, poking him.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Why were you in the cupboard, anyway?" Kutner asked curiously.

"We thought Matt would probably barge in with Mohinder or something if we were in the bedrooms," Micah explained.

The older man laughed. "Fair enough." He sat down on the floor.

* * *

The minister blinked as he was approached by Peter's mother, currently being supported by a man with horn-rimmed glasses. He blinked.

"C'ld you marry us?" asked the man.

"Uh... sure. Sure!" he said hastily. "Only... are you sure about this?"

"Sure I'm sure."

And then and there, in front of the reception of another wedding, Angela Petrelli was lawfully wedded to Noah Bennet (even if they didn't remember much of it afterwards).

* * *

Cuddy watched as the two doctors in her hospital marked out respectively as 'Biggest Jerkhole/Asshat' and 'Hottest/Cutest Guy' danced. A little awkwardly, to be sure, because of House's leg, but still. They were dancing.

It wasn't as if she'd never expected that there had been something deeper to the relationship. After all, the two of them had stuck together through twenty years, three wives and their respective divorces, and the death of Amber. She'd always wondered whether the two of them - or, to be more exact, House - would ever admit to being more than just really good friends.

All in all, it was surprising, and she couldn't help but feel a little bereft as she watched.

Oh, _sure,_ she _liked_ Greg and James, but she doubted it would be possible for her to have a long-term relationship with Greg without the whole thing getting awkward and falling apart because of his cynicism, and Wilson was a good friend, and... well... while her parents might be perfectly happy about having another Jewish doctor as part of the family, and would probably encourage a relationship, it wasn't really what she wanted with Wilson. He could be too _nice._ And while coffee and sugar balance each other and go well together, having them separately could be overwhelming in a way. She wondered if that made her creamer or milk in her metaphor, and decided to stop that train of thought.

She looked up as a man with glasses and spiky brown hair sat down. It was the same person who had come in late, and Cuddy couldn't help but wonder how he knew her name.

"Hi," he smiled. "Is this seat free?"

"Sure," she replied absently, still watching as the pair left the floor as the music ended. "I didn't catch your name earlier, by the way."

He extended a hand, beaming. "I'm the Doctor."

Cuddy gave him an odd look. "_The _doctor?"

"Yup!" he replied. "Or you could just call me John."

Cuddy blinked. "Okay," she said slowly. _You dealt with House for all these years. One slightly insane English-sounding guy claiming to be 'the' doctor is not going to change much._

"Where are you from?" she asked, making an attempt at casual conversation. "You sound British."

"Oh, I'm from all over," he replied. The smile suddenly fell off his face. "Do a lot of travelling these days. I don't really have a home any more _per se_..."

"Who was the other lady earlier, then? Your wife?" Lisa asked curiously.

The Doctor spluttered. "My _wi-? _"

"_Not_ your wife, then," she said, amused.

The man ran a hand through his hair, rendering it even messier than before. "Don't talk to Donna about me and weddings. She'll tell you the story of how I _kidnapped _her on her wedding dress while she was walking down the aisle. Wasn't my fault!" He raised a hand defensively. "She just... turned up by accident."

She chuckled. "Right."

Resting her head against the wall, she listened.

* * *

"Well... at least now we know who'll win in a fight between Dialga, Palkia, Giratina and Shaymin."

* * *

Claire lay panting, out of breath on the ground, Gretchen next to her in a similar state.

She glared at her friend, considering whipping her with the smoking remains of the towel, before giving up.

"Truce?"

"Truce."

There was a moment's pause.

"But at least we won the bet... That's five thousand split two ways."

There was another pause, as Claire considered the possibilities of what one could do with $2,500. Pay off some college fees, for one thing...

"...of course, that's if he pays up."

* * *

"HOUSE!"

* * *

Tracy glared at Meredith. This, as they said, would be It.

"Bring it on, bitch."

The danceoff began to 'Human: The Killers'.

* * *

The Doctor got up quickly at the sound of impending doom, grabbing Donna's hand and taking her back to the TARDIS.

"Oi, what're you - ?"

"We have to leave before midnight!" the Doctor panted, sprinting for the blue box.

"What?! This isn't bloomin' Cinderella!"

The Doctor fumbled for the TARDIS key, before giving up and just clicking his fingers as the door swung open to reveal its familiarly larger-on-the-inside inside. "No, but unless you want to get - "

_But on the plus side, there hadn't been a Slitheen invasion, Daleks had not been involved, Cybermen had not offered to delete anyone, Judoon had not tried to arrested me, and the Master was somewhere else. Those are good bonuses. Focus on the bonuses!_

* * *

Somewhere in the distant future, Professor Yana sneezed.

* * *

"ICE BITCH, YOU'RE GOING DOWN!" Meredith yelled furiously.

* * *

Peter sighed contentedly next to Sylar on the bed, just before there was a rumbling noise and a circular hole three feet wide was melted open by a pillar of flame, which died down as soon as it had flared up, singing the carpet.

Both men leapt off the bed as Peter stared at the tableau of two women bitchfighting.

He shut his eyes and focused, the temperature of the room and the one below dropping down to a more acceptable level. For polar bears.

"Ha, bitch!" yelled Tracy. "Who's going down NOW?" she spat, just before looking up through the hole in the ceiling at Sylar and Peter, both semi-naked and the former looking pretty damn pissed at having his makeout session interrupted.

"...shit."

* * *

"Well... this sure beats Kutner's 'aliens are out there!' theories," House noted, fascinated.

"House... we already _know_ aliens exist."

"So? This still beats it."

"...a superpowered bitchfight?"

* * *

"All I can say is thank God for Rachel," Peter sighed as a minor chunk of masonry fell down, only to be caught by Sylar's telekinetic hold.

"Who's Rachel?" Sylar asked warily.

"A girl I met a while back. She could do _this. _Don't worry, by the way. I'm just getting the important stuff."

Peter's fists bloomed with violet fire, which blurred and spread outwards.

* * *

There was a slow explosion of purple light just as the Doctor slammed the door shut. It was just about visible through the doors of the TARDIS, as he dived to the floor, pulling Donna with him whilst the familiar graunching noise of the TARDIS started up again. The floor shook, causing the two to slide and adding bruises on bruises as Donna landed sideways on a hatstand. Ten seconds later, the noise faded, and the floor stabilised again.

"What," she began, "was THAT?"

"Uh... probably best not to explain," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then his eyes widened. "Oh no... did it get you?"

"Did _what _get me?"

The Doctor mentally suppressed a groan. Oh well. It seemed he would be the only one who would remember the full story...

* * *

"...why am I butt naked, and why do I have the burnt remnants of a towel wrapped around my waist?"

* * *

...and _that's_ why Peter and Sylar will never get married.

Pickled scorpions in vodka are available by mail order from I Want One Of Those (dot com), in case anyone wants to try it. I've never had it, since I'm 17, and anyway, I prefer to remember all the embarrassing things _other_ people did when drunk. It's more fun that way. And no, I don't know where to find absinthe.

The bet made was $5,000 to the winner of a fight between Gretchen and Claire, outside the hotel, naked, with the prerequisites that 'flaming towels must be involved'. Except that Claire only found out about this _after _Gretchen gave her the 'weapon', and the maker of the bet wasn't planning to pay up anyway, because, unfortunately, everyone lies.

Serenade was written by Derek Bourgeois for his wife's wedding.

I have never been to a wedding, so please tell me if any details are incorrect - I did about 5 minutes' worth of research on the subject.

And Peter... cheated... a bit with the dress. Hey, there's got to be _some_ advantage to shapeshifting!

If anyone knows where I could find a picture of Peter in a wedding dress with Sylar, or if they're planning to do one themselves, please PM me! I'd love one.

* * *


End file.
